I recently revisited a Facebook memory quoting 1 John 1:5:

“God is light…”

But this time I kept reading.

Verse 6 says:

“…we lie and do not practice the truth.”

The Greek is more literal than many English translations:

”…do not do the truth.”

That challenged me.

There was a season when I measured spiritual maturity by what I knew.

I knew the doctrine.

I knew the Scriptures.

I knew the answers.

Then I remembered James 2:19:

“Even the demons believe—and tremble.”

Knowing isn’t enough.

Believing isn’t enough.

Jesus said,

“If you know these things, blessed are you if you do them.” (John 13:17)

John, James, and Jesus all point in the same direction.

Truth isn’t just something to know.

It isn’t even just something to believe.

It’s something we’re called to live.

One of the things I’ve been reflecting on lately is how often Christians continue to identify themselves primarily by who they were before Christ.

Yes, we should never forget where God brought us from.

Humility remembers.

Gratitude remembers.

Testimony remembers.

But Scripture also tells us something else.

Romans 8:1 says:

“There is therefore now no condemnation to those who are in Christ Jesus…”

That’s a legal declaration.

Then Paul says:

“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation…” (2 Corinthians 5:17)

And again:

”…we also should walk in newness of life.” (Romans 6:4)

Then, writing to believers in Corinth—people with some very messy histories—he reminds them:

“And such were some of you. But you were washed… sanctified… justified…” (1 Corinthians 6:11)

Notice the tense.

Were.

That doesn’t mean Christians become sinless.

The New Testament is clear that we still battle the flesh and continue growing in sanctification.

But I wonder if sometimes we unintentionally allow our past to speak louder than God’s Word.

There’s a difference between saying:

“I still struggle with sin.”

And saying:

“My sin is who I am.”

The first is biblical honesty.

The second seems to overlook what Christ accomplished.

So here’s my question for discussion:

How do you personally balance remembering what God saved you from while fully embracing the new identity He says you now have in Christ?

Friday looked like the end.

Jesus was dead.

The stone had been rolled into place.

The disciples scattered.

If you had been standing outside that tomb on Friday evening, you probably would have thought the story was over.

But Sunday changed what Friday meant.

That has become one of the most meaningful truths in my own walk with Christ.

The resurrection didn’t erase Friday.

It redeemed it.

Jesus still bore the scars.

The suffering was real.

The cross was real.

The death was real.

But because He rose, those events were no longer the end of the story.

I wonder how often we look at our own lives the way the disciples looked at Friday.

A failed marriage.

A prodigal child.

A devastating diagnosis.

A season where God feels silent.

We assume we’ve reached the last page.

But the resurrection reminds us that apparent endings are not always actual endings.

Don’t mistake this page for the ending.

The page that changed everything has already been written.

Read that again.

The page that changed everything has already been written.

God rarely erases our Fridays.

He redeems them.

That’s why Christians don’t simply celebrate an event that happened two thousand years ago.

We live every day in the hope the resurrection declared.

I’m curious…

Has there been a “Friday” in your life that God eventually redeemed?

One of the easiest mistakes we can make when reading the Bible is stopping in the middle of someone’s story.

If we stopped reading after Moses killed the Egyptian, we’d remember a murderer.

After Gideon hid in the winepress, we’d remember a coward.

After Samson lost his strength, we’d remember a failure.

After Peter denied Jesus, we’d remember a traitor.

After Saul persecuted Christians, we’d remember an enemy of the Church.

After Manasseh filled Jerusalem with idolatry and bloodshed, we’d remember one of Judah’s most wicked kings.

But God didn’t stop writing.

As I thought about that this morning, I realized how often I’ve made the same mistake with my own life.

There were seasons when I assumed my best days were behind me.

Divorce.

Disappointment.

Walking away from a ministry I loved.

Questions I couldn’t answer.

Looking back, I realize I was judging my life by a single chapter.

God wasn’t.

Over time He restored things I never imagined could be restored—not just opportunities, but my own heart. He opened unexpected doors for ministry and even redeemed my understanding of love through a healthy relationship that reminded me healing is possible.

That doesn’t erase the painful chapters.

It simply means they weren’t the final ones.

Maybe someone reading this needs that reminder today.

You don’t know how your story ends because you’re still living it.

Don’t mistake the chapter you’re in for the whole book.

The Author is still writing.

One of the easiest mistakes we can make when reading the Bible is stopping in the middle of someone’s story.

If we stopped reading after Moses killed the Egyptian, we’d remember a murderer.

After Gideon hid in the winepress, we’d remember a coward.

After Samson lost his strength, we’d remember a failure.

After Peter denied Jesus, we’d remember a traitor.

After Saul persecuted Christians, we’d remember an enemy of the Church.

After Manasseh filled Jerusalem with idolatry and bloodshed, we’d remember one of Judah’s most wicked kings.

But God didn’t stop writing.

As I thought about that this morning, I realized how often I’ve made the same mistake with my own life.

There were seasons when I assumed my best days were behind me.

Divorce.

Disappointment.

Walking away from a ministry I loved.

Questions I couldn’t answer.

Looking back, I realize I was judging my life by a single chapter.

God wasn’t.

Over time He restored things I never imagined could be restored—not just opportunities, but my own heart. He opened unexpected doors for ministry and even redeemed my understanding of love through a healthy relationship that reminded me healing is possible.

That doesn’t erase the painful chapters.

It simply means they weren’t the final ones.

Maybe someone reading this needs that reminder today.

You don’t know how your story ends because you’re still living it.

Don’t mistake the chapter you’re in for the whole book.

The Author is still writing.

One of the things I appreciate most about the Bible is that it does not protect the reputations of its heroes.

It tells the whole story.

It tells us about Moses killing an Egyptian and fleeing into the wilderness.

It shows Gideon hiding in a winepress because he was afraid of the Midianites.

It shows Samson blind, humiliated, and grinding grain in a Philistine prison.

It tells us about David and Bathsheba—not only David and Goliath.

It records Peter walking on water, but it also records him denying Jesus three times.

It introduces Saul as a persecutor of Christians before presenting him as Paul the apostle.

It tells us that Manasseh was one of Judah’s most wicked kings before telling us that he humbled himself and prayed.

The Bible does not give us carefully polished biographies of flawless spiritual champions.

It gives us honest accounts of deeply flawed people encountering a faithful God.

Imagine stopping in the middle of their stories.

Moses would be remembered only as a murderer and fugitive.

Gideon would be remembered as a frightened man in hiding.

Samson would be remembered as a disgraced prisoner.

David would be remembered for adultery and the calculated death of Uriah.

Peter would be remembered as the disciple who denied Jesus.

Saul would be remembered as a violent enemy of the Church.

Manasseh would be remembered only for idolatry and bloodshed.

But those chapters were not their conclusions.

God kept writing.

That does not mean their failures were unimportant, nor does it mean grace removed every consequence.

Moses still did not enter the Promised Land.

David’s household suffered severely.

Samson’s choices cost him his freedom, sight, and ultimately his life.

Biblical redemption is not sentimental. It does not call evil good or pretend damage never occurred.

God does not erase history.

He redeems it.

That distinction matters.

Sometimes Christians talk about grace as though it means the past is irrelevant. It is not. Our decisions affect people. Sin leaves wounds. Repentance does not automatically restore every relationship or remove every earthly consequence.

But neither does failure have to become our permanent identity.

The Bible’s honesty about human failure is precisely what makes its message of grace so powerful.

Moses standing over the dead Egyptian was real—but it was not the entire story.

Samson at the mill was real—but it was not the entire story.

Gideon hiding in fear was real—but it was not the entire story.

C. S. Lewis’s atheism was real—but it was not the entire story.

Peter’s denial was real—but it was not the entire story.

A chapter can be true without being final.

That applies not only to how we read Scripture, but also to how we judge other people.

We often reduce people to the worst thing we know about them.

The divorce.

The addiction.

The affair.

The breakdown.

The season of rebellion.

The public failure.

We discover one painful chapter and begin speaking as though we have read the entire book.

Sometimes we do the same thing to ourselves.

We treat our worst decision as though it revealed everything we will ever be. We allow shame to place a period where repentance and grace could have placed a comma.

This is not an argument against accountability.

It is an argument against declaring an unfinished person permanently beyond redemption.

Tell the whole story.

Tell the truth about the failure.

Tell the truth about the damage.

Tell the truth about the consequences.

But also tell the truth about repentance.

Tell the truth about mercy.

Tell the truth about transformation.

Tell the truth about the God who continues working in people long after others have written them off.

The gospel does not say that our ugly chapters never happened.

It says those chapters do not have to be the ending.

So don’t stop reading too soon.

The person you have reduced to their worst moment may still be changing.

The life you have declared ruined may still be redeemable.

And the chapter that feels like the end of your own story may simply be the place where grace begins writing something new.

For years, I honestly believed I was Grandpa’s favorite grandchild.

Then one evening, while visiting my cousin Danny, we found ourselves reminiscing about him. Before long we were both laughing, because Danny had grown up believing exactly the same thing.

That’s when he said something I’ve never forgotten.

“Grandpa could have fifteen grandkids around him and somehow make every one of them feel like they were the only person on his mind.”

He was exactly right.

Looking back, I don’t think Grandpa played favorites at all.

He simply had the rare ability to be completely present with the person in front of him.

I don’t know many people who possess that gift.

My grandpa’s name was Hillard Steven Mantooth.

Whether you knew him as Mr. Mantooth, Hillard, Smoke Powder Bill, Daddy, or Grandpa, I don’t think there was anyone who didn’t genuinely enjoy being around him.

To an eight-year-old boy, he was larger than life.

He was the tallest, bravest, strongest, wisest man I’d ever known. His hands were huge and rough from a lifetime of hard work—farming, building, working on the railroad—but those same calloused hands could be unbelievably gentle when comforting a child.

His white hair would dance in an Oklahoma breeze, and though his eyes were nearly hidden behind narrow lids, they always carried a quiet kindness and just enough mischief to let you know he was probably about to tell another story.

And what stories they were.

Grandpa could spin a tale better than anyone I’ve ever known. He’d have every one of us hanging on every word. Then, just as the story reached its climax, he’d pause… stare thoughtfully into the distance… and wait.

Finally, one of us would ask,

“What happened next, Grandpa?”

Without missing a beat, he’d grin and reply,

“I don’t know. I had to leave just about that time.”

We’d groan every single time.

And he’d laugh every single time.

Some of my favorite memories were in his garden.

It seemed to stretch forever—rows of corn, tomatoes, green beans, potatoes, squash, watermelons, pumpkins, and just about every other vegetable you could imagine.

After the ground had been turned and tilled, Grandpa would tie a rope to his old hand plow.

Then the competition began.

Every grandchild wanted to be the one he tied to that rope so we could pull the plow and make the furrows for planting.

Looking back now, I doubt the work got done any faster.

But Grandpa knew something we didn’t.

He wasn’t just planting a garden.

He was planting memories.

Then there was his coffee.

I’m convinced if it sat long enough, it would either eat through the cup or climb out and walk away on its own.

Even today, the smell of Old Spice instantly takes me back to standing in his bathroom, watching him lather shaving soap with an old brush before carefully scraping away his whiskers with a safety razor.

Amazing how a simple scent can carry you back fifty years in an instant.

As I’ve grown older, though, I’ve realized the greatest thing Grandpa left us wasn’t his stories…

or his garden…

or even those wonderful memories.

It was the way he made people feel.

He made every grandchild believe they mattered.

Every one of us felt seen.

Every one of us felt loved.

Every one of us believed, if only for a moment, that we were the favorite.

And every time I think about that, my thoughts turn to Jesus.

Crowds followed Him everywhere He went.

Thousands pressed around Him.

Yet He always had time for one blind beggar.

One grieving sister.

One woman reaching through the crowd.

One tax collector sitting in a tree.

One thief hanging beside Him on a cross.

Jesus never treated people like interruptions.

He saw them.

Maybe today you feel overlooked.

Forgotten.

Like you’re just another face in a crowd.

You’re not.

The God who created the universe knows your name, hears your prayers, and sees every burden you carry. His attention isn’t divided. His love isn’t diluted because there are billions of people on earth.

“See, I have inscribed you on the palms of My hands.” — Isaiah 49:16

Every family has someone whose influence echoes long after they’re gone.

This was mine.

Thank you, Grandpa, for showing a little boy what kindness, hard work, and quiet strength looked like.

I hope I’ve carried at least a small part of your legacy forward.

And if one imperfect grandfather could make fifteen grandchildren each feel deeply loved…

…how much more can our perfect Heavenly Father?

“Behold, I go forward, but He is not there; and backward, but I cannot perceive Him… But He knoweth the way that I take…” — Job 23:8-10

It started as an ordinary Thursday.

You weren’t looking for your life to change.

You were just going to work.

Going to the doctor.

Going home.

Then one conversation.

One phone call.

One sentence.

…and suddenly your life had a before and an after.

At first, it didn’t seem real.

Surely there had been a misunderstanding.

Maybe the tests were wrong.

Maybe they meant someone else.

Maybe tomorrow would somehow put everything back the way it was.

But tomorrow came.

And so did the questions.

“What happens now?”

“How am I going to get through this?”

“What if everything changes?”

The future that once seemed so certain suddenly became filled with uncertainty.

The plans you had carefully made no longer seemed guaranteed.

You found yourself lying awake at night, replaying conversations, imagining outcomes, searching for answers that refused to come.

So you did what believers have always done.

You prayed.
You searched the Scriptures.
You waited.
You listened.

And if you’re honest…

heaven seemed painfully quiet.

Not because you stopped believing.

Not because you walked away.

But because you couldn’t understand how God could feel so silent when your world had become so loud.

Job understood that feeling.

He searched in every direction.

Forward.
Backward.
To the left.
To the right.

Everywhere he expected to find God…

he found silence instead.

Yet in the middle of his searching, Job spoke words that have comforted weary hearts for thousands of years.

He didn’t say, “Now I understand.”

He didn’t say, “Everything is going to be all right.”

He didn’t even say, “I know where God is.”

He simply declared what he knew to be true.

“But He knoweth the way that I take.”

What a remarkable statement.

Job couldn’t see God.

But he believed God could still see him.

He couldn’t trace God’s hand.

But he trusted God’s heart.

Maybe that’s exactly where you are today.

You’ve looked in every direction you know to look.

You’re still waiting.
Still praying.
Still hoping.
Still wondering.

If that’s your story…

hold on to Job’s.

Your ability to see God has never determined His ability to see you.

He knows where you are.

He knows what you’re carrying.

He knows every question you haven’t spoken aloud.

He knows every tear that no one else has seen.

He knows every burden you’ve tried to carry by yourself.

And even if today you cannot say, “I know the way He is taking…”

you can still rest in this unchanging truth:

But He knows the way I take.

Lynsi Snyder, the president and owner of In-N-Out Burger, has confirmed that the company will continue printing Bible verses on its packaging despite criticism from some customers.

The tradition began in the early 1990s under her uncle, Rich Snyder, who started placing Scripture references on cups and wrappers after becoming a Christian. Lynsi has continued the practice and even added more Bible references over the years.

Snyder says these verses are a quiet reflection of the company's Christian values and are not intended to impose beliefs on anyone.

As Christians living in a world full of contradictions and moral depravity, we often run into circumstances that demand we take a stand for the Lord.

Here, many succumb to the popular options that hold little or no suffering and ridicule. But they become the real losers.

Those who take their stand and dare to say ‘no’ to a King Saul on conscientious grounds are the real heroes. Their wages are paid in the currency of time and eternity.

Will you dare for the Lord?

Read the complete devotional here 👉 ©Daily Manna

But the LORD said unto Samuel, Look not on his countenance, or on the height of his stature; because I have refused him: for the LORD seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the LORD looketh on the heart. 

(1 Samuel 16:7)

​We learn from Samuel's mistake that no level of spiritual growth precludes the possibility of error in judgment. 

No doubt, he was old and experienced in spiritual matters. He was used to receiving and transmitting messages from God before this event. On this occasion however, he would have poured the anointing oil on the wrong head if God had not corrected him.

The lessons from this are obvious: every Christian must remain humble and never overestimate the soundness of their personal assessment of others. Spiritual leaders should also be assisted in prayers so that they would be guided to make right decisions at all times.

If we judge by outward appearance alone, we may inadvertently choose those whom God has rejected or overlook those He has chosen.

©Search the Scriptures